


Empty

by Martienne



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2018-03-23 11:52:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3767140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Martienne/pseuds/Martienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carolina never suffered a lack of success. Yet when Texas takes yet one more thing from her, she knows she is a failure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty

She can still remember the first time she felt it, though she doesn’t remember the occasion—a flash card drill, or doing a math problem on the chalkboard, something like that—can still feel the way it coiled in her gut, cold and unforgiving. Can still feel it to this day, though the shame of the moment that caused it is long gone.

The feeling of knowing she had made a mistake. That she wasn’t good enough.

She thinks now that to anyone else the moment wouldn’t have meant much, would have been laughed off, would have been taken as a lesson not to sweat it when things went wrong. It must have been pretty minor, in the long run, if she didn’t even remember what had caused it.

That feeling became more than familiar over the years. She really didn’t even know where this pressure she had put on herself was coming from. She didn’t remember any overt disapproval from her parents when she came home with a less than perfect grade, or when she wasn’t the best at everything in her extracurriculars. No, all that pressure came from within, as well as the pressure she put on herself to be more involved, join more clubs, excel at more sports.

Sometimes the feeling became more fierce, the emptiness in her belly giving way to an agitation that filled her limbs and her head and made her feel like she could burst. On those occasions the only relief she could find was to run, pump her arms and legs faster and faster until her lungs were ready to burst. It was a solitary activity, secret, which she concealed as possessively as the feelings that caused her to do it. These days it was her only joy, and that made it something to cherish. Running was something she was good at, yes.

Sometimes she was able to stand outside of herself and see it objectively, fleeting moments, all. When she saw the proud faces of her family when she graduated third in her class—but she should have been first—when she was recommended for promotions after joining the military, when she became the leader of the top squad in the Project. It never lasted long. At least she still gained some relief from trying to pump that sensation through her by running, made only marginally more satisfying by the speed enhancement in her armor.

This in itself was something she strove to perfect—the prefect stride, the perfect rhythm, running just fast enough to avoid outrunning her own feet, modifying her breathing, her stance, her arm movements. Lately her scores on the training floor hadn’t been satisfactory, not while Texas was outperforming her seemingly without putting any effort into it. But this was something no one could take from her. It was all hers, and she knew how to use it.

At least, it was. Until they lost control of that briefcase on the highway. She was ready—this was her moment to shine. It was as though she had always been training for this, ever since the first time she’d become overwhelmed by the feelings of inadequacy as a preteen that spurred her to begin running. And then Texas came swooping down from the sky the way she did and before Carolina had even started she was already behind.

Almost before she had a chance to realize what had happened she knew it was over. She tore her helmet off in dismay and caught her breath.

“Better luck next time, Carolina,” Texas said.

But this wasn’t about luck, or even about winning, anymore. Now the one thing that had never failed her had been taken from her.

She didn’t know how to fill that hole.


End file.
